


i will be your remedy

by minhoscallousedhands



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Depression, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Suicide Attempt, newt's suicide attempt, who knows - Freeform, who's comforting who?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-08
Updated: 2016-12-08
Packaged: 2018-09-07 07:29:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8789056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minhoscallousedhands/pseuds/minhoscallousedhands
Summary: despite being furious at newt for even thinking of ending his life, minho tried his best to care for him while he recovers from the fall.





	

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first hurt/comfort fic. i realize i go off tangent towards the end, as usual, but i want it to be open to interpretation :) i hope you all enjoy this!

 

 

 

> _when the world seems so cruel_
> 
> _and your heart makes you feel like a fool_
> 
> _i promise you will see_
> 
> _that i will be_
> 
> _i will be your remedy_

 

 

 

* * *

 

Sharp pain shoots up his left leg as consciousness crawls in his head. He's hesitant about cracking his eyes open, but the hand he'd recognize from anywhere is shaking so bad at his side, stubby fingers laced with his.

He steels himself and sighs, "Min."

"You," the deep voice cracks, "Newt, you're the shuckiest shuck-- WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?"

He flutters his eyes open, slowly letting light in. It doesn't take long for him to realize where he is, a disappointment tags along with the knowledge. Minho is kneeling beside his bed, hair sticking out at all directions, cheeks glistening with tears from swollen eyes. He looks angry, to say the least, despite his thumb sweeping over his knuckles reassuringly.

Of course he was mad.

He never really expected him to understand. Wanting to get out of the Maze was and still is something they have in common, but obviously Newt had a jarringly different idea in mind. And right now, he can't expect him to understand how disappointed he is to wake up again, still alive, if a little broken--his leg is hurting like crazy.

"Sorry." It's all that he could say, now that the pain is almost taking over him. "My leg--"

"Is split in half. Almost."

Newt moves his elbow to lift himself, but the small cuts he didn't know he had along his arms brush harshly against the sheets, and he lets out a sharp grunt in response.

"Don't move, you idiot," Minho contradicts his annoyed tone by wiping a hand over his forehead. "Rest. You've been out for a day, got everyone thinking you're as good as dead, and I'd hate for them to be right."

He can't find a response to that.

"The bandage on your leg is Winston's masterpiece. Don't ruin that by moving."

He feels himself nodding weakly, and then Minho's hand leaves his forehead. "Where are you going?"

"Getting you food." The Runner eyes him, then tugs the corners of his lips a little, "I kinda need to walk too, been here all day."

Guilt washes over Newt all of a sudden as Minho left the straw hut. The thought of his friend, _boyfriend_ , if they're anything like that, waiting for him to wake up breaks his heart. The selfishness of his suicide attempt didn't dawn on him until then, until the relief on the usually stoic facade wasn't so cleverly hidden the moment he woke up. He still hates this place, yes, but it's not like Minho is a fan either. Why didn't he ever think of that?

Newt closes his eyes, salty tears over his scrapes burns like a punishment, and he takes it all in.

\--

_Concrete and ivy was his only view, and he was going up, almost soaring, hand going above another. The wall seems to grow as he climbed higher, so he looked down, and gauged the damage._

_This is enough._

_He'd been thinking about flying. If he could fly, he would've gone up above the walls, and he'd find a way out. He'd been thinking about how much he hates this place, and maybe, maybe the only loophole to his plan could be the one that perfects it._

_He knows he can't fly, but he'll still fly anyways._

_He gave himself a little kick off the concrete, let his limbs go, and greets death in the face. Hopefully._

_The plummet down was a blur. He closed his eyes, and he heard screams. Calling his name, telling him he shouldn't do it._

_His will to die didn't falter until a familiar voice screams his name, followed by thumps of steps against concrete._

_"Newt!"_

_"Newt!"_

"Newt!" The voice sounds real this time, laced with concern. "What's going on?"

Newt wakes up hyperventilating, covered in sweat, his leg in worse pain than before. "I fell, I fell," he cries out.

"I know," it's Minho, and he's back with a bowl of tomato soup in his hand. "Were you dreaming about it?"

He blinks to clear his vision. "Yes," he says, while he actually meant it was more like a flashback; a memory. He never felt so useless before, only able to get a few words out. "You were there," he sighs.

Minho doesn't answer, looking down on the bowl. "You need to eat something," he says curtly. He balances the bowl on the small table beside the bed, then slips an arm behind Newt's back. "Slowly," he commands.

Wincing at the pain, Newt pushes himself up weakly, letting Minho do the rest. The Runner adjusts the pillow so he can lean comfortably against it while sitting up. His heart sinks into his stomach when the warmth of Minho's hand leaves his back, but he can't complain because the boy is now nursing the bowl of soup, taking a spoonful of red liquid to his mouth.

"Come on," he coaxes.

"I'm terrible," there's a tear rolling down his cheek. "I'm sorry."

"Ain't the time for sappy klunk." Minho shakes his head. "Eat."

He still can't feel his mouth opening, and he can tell it upsets Minho by the way his jaw tenses up. But then, the light in his dark eyes dimmed. "I know you don't eat your sandwiches in the Maze so I get to eat more," Minho says sadly. "This is the least I can do."

It's true. They used to run the Maze together and have lunch there, too. An apple and a sandwich, not more for each of them, or else their packs get too heavy. Minho has the appetite of a Griever, and Newt can't stand the way he eyes his sandwich because the Keeper always finished it first.

So Newt lied, told him he's not hungry so he can have his sandwich, and settled his hunger with an apple. The memory stings him a little, especially with his broken leg in vision. He may never run again, and to think that he'd spend less time with Minho sinks his heart further down.

"It's nothing, I wasn't--"

"It's not nothing," Minho interjects, "You've been so selfless, Newt, and I might've taken that for granted."

"Minho..." Newt will never forgive himself if Minho ever thought this was his fault.

"Just let me take care of you, for once."

Newt opens his mouth. The soup has gone cold, but at least his heart is a little warmer now.

\--

Half of the second day in the Med-Jack hut goes by uneventfully. Gladers took turns babysitting Newt, because he actually can't do anything by himself. Alby himself brought him breakfast, some rice and egg, and forced him to drink a lot more than they usually rationed. Jeff checked on his bandages, cleaned his wounds with a solution he'd asked from the Creators that burns a lot worse than actual fire melting his skin. Winston helped him relief himself from all the water Alby forced him to drink--the Med-Jack insisted, so he didn't ruin his perfectly splinted leg.

Frypan is now talking his ear off about everything and nothing, keeping him company after lunchtime. It calms him down somehow, knowing that everything in the Glade is well after his incident.

The last thing he wants is for everyone to freak out and think there's no hope left for them.

"Fry." Someone opens the door. "Don't you have some carrots to chop?" The snark poses no edge, if a little playfulness.

"You're welcome, Minho." Frypan rolls his eyes, making Newt laugh a bit. "Later, Newt."

"Thanks, Fry." Newt curves a smile at him. "Isn't it a little early for a Runner to be back?"

Minho removes his pack, then sits on Newt's bed. "I'm the Keeper," he states, "We all left early today."

Newt frowns. "You didn't have to." He slumps down from his seat, lying flat on his back. So much kindness had been given to him in one day, and he doesn't think he deserves another.

"No, I had to," the Runner rakes a hand through his hair and the feeling of his callous is strangely comforting. "How're you feeling?"

"I think I smell like klunk," he blurts out, earning an amused look on Minho's face.

"You do," he grins. "Want me to clean you up?"

Newt feels himself blush. He'd expected Minho to be angry, to be utterly disappointed at his life choices. But he'd been all but upset, except for the first few minutes he woke up. To say he doesn't want the Keeper to take care of him would be a lie, and it's not like taking a shower himself is a viable option either.

"If you don't mind."

There's a slight twitch of Minho's lips, like he was going to say something, but opted not to. He smiles, "Course I don't. Be right back."

About fifteen minutes later, Minho comes back with a bowl of warm water, soap, and the cleanest washcloth Newt had ever seen in the Glade.

"I boiled the washcloth myself." he explains, as if reading Newt's mind.

"Oh."

Minho sits beside Newt again, pressing the damp, warm washcloth on his forehead, and sweeps it gently over the rest of his face. Newt closes his eyes, feeling a small sting when soap touches his drying wounds, yet relaxed at the same time as dirt and grime leaves his skin.

"Can you raise your arms?"

Nodding, he obeys, letting Minho raise his shirt up to his collarbone, and then feel the washcloth brush his chest and sides. He feels like a child and a small part of him wants to remember when his parents did this when he was little.

"Do you think our parents did this when we were little?"

Minho frowns. "Maybe. Why?"

"They had to, you know, when we were babies."

"Okay..."

"It's nice. Thank you."

The keeper continued wiping his unharmed skin wordlessly, always a little more careful around the edges of his wounds. He removes his shirt, replacing it with his own--a grey long sleeved shirt that smells like soap and a little bit of Minho. The material feels fluffy and warm on his skin, making him a little sleepy.

"There. Comfy?"

"Very," he mumbles, his lids growing heavier with each blink, "Thank you, Minho." His hand finds Minho's, squeezing it tight.

The rough hand squeezes back, spreading another dose of warmth he couldn't get from anyone else. He feels himself slipping away into stupor.

A pair of warm lips press down his forehead, sending him into a much needed deep, dreamless sleep.

\--

 

Minho didn't show up on the third day. And the fourth. And the fifth. Every time Newt asked for him, every Glader had the same answer: he's been busy running and mapping. It felt like he's avoiding him for some reason he can't make out, and it does very little to help him recover.

"I have good news," Alby announces as he's carrying two bowls of onion soup to Newt's bedside. It's the sixth breakfast the Leader has in this hut, he never missed a day of visiting him here.

"Okay?" Newt drags himself up despite the pain shrieking from his leg. Reluctantly, he takes a bowl and spoon, hoping Jeff had spiked his soup with painkillers again.

"The creators sent us this serum," he fishes out a syringe, filled with clear purple liquid, from his back pocket, "With a note that says 'for Newt's bone',"

"That's it? This is the good news?"

"Well, it says 'inject above the fractured bone, wait two days'. That's it."

"How do we know it ain't goin' to cut my leg off?"

Alby sighs. "Only one way to find out."

"You seriously trust these people?"

"Do we have a choice?"

Newt weighs his options. Not like he has much, or any, but still. It must be a lot easier if Minho was here with him, he'd really like to count his opinion in. But he's not about going through the motions of asking and hoping the answer would be different today.

"I'll think about it." he finally answers, "It oughtta hurt like hell, and I don't know if it's worth it."

"You're talking klunk," his friend commented.

"It's my leg, you slinthead," Newt snarls, pain ripping through his leg again, "It already hurts as it is," he winces and hisses, trying to contain the discomfort.

"I'll give you til sundown."

"Fine."

They continue eating in silence, filling the room with sounds of clinking spoons and slurping of broth. Somehow Newt knows that he would've agreed to the treatment had Minho been there, unfortunately the person in question has better things to do than sit around and watch a suicidal boy lying and suffering on the bed he made. Waiting until sundown probably wouldn't help him decide, but at least he can hope Minho would show up before that.

\--

"Newt, it's time," Winston states, his face twisted in concern. It's been dark for an hour and the Med-Jacks have been waiting for him to agree to the treatment. "You have to take the serum."

"No."

"We'll drug you with painkillers, you won't feel a thing." Jeff adds, and Newt is pretty sure the Med-Jack didn't believe anything he just said himself.

"Shuck it. Shuck the serum. I don't want it."

Silence fills the air. Newt feels ungrateful for refusing the serum, but he really needed Minho to be there with him.

"Newt, we've been over this." Alby enters the room, Gally's tagging along with him. Newt last saw the Builder on day three, they didn't talk much, he brought him some tea and bread and they eat them mostly in silence.

"I told you it's my leg, Alby. Answer's no," he averts his gaze from his friends, holding a film of tears from falling.

He thinks about the nightmares he had, the flashback to the events leading up to his suicide attempt. All he felt was strong hatred towards this place. All hope was lost and death seemed like the only way to go. What he didn't think of was everyone surrounding him, the Gladers, his friends, and Minho. They were, and still are, in the same hellhole that is the Glade and the Maze, and Newt didn't realize that he wasn't alone. Isn't alone.

All he wants now is to punish himself for being so selfish.

"Newt, you have to give it a try," it's Gally, who has this mortified look every time he glances over Newt's leg.

"Why, so I can try to kill myself again?"

Newt's pretty sure his friends collectively flinched at his rhetoric.

"I don't deserve it. I'll heal just fine."

Gally storms out of the room, and Newt's heart sinks. "Why don't you all leave?"

Nobody says a word for a while, before Alby signals them to march out. Newt takes a deep breath, calming himself down from all the pain that comes rushing in again. Sleeping seems like a good idea, although he's not exactly tired, so he forces his eyes shut and evens out his breaths.

"Stupid shank. You think your leg's goin' to magically heal?"

Newt's lids fly open. "Minho--"

"You have klunk for brains, you know that?" The Runner storms in with the syringe in hand. "I can't believe this. Who the shuck are you? You jumped off the wall, now you can't take a little needle to your bone?"

Tears has been streaming down Newt's cheek. He doesn't know what to think. Maybe he had overdosed on painkillers, maybe it's trauma, but Minho was right. He hasn't been himself.

"I'm sorry," his voice cracks, "But you haven't been here, I thought you don't care anymore."

"That is the stupidest thing that ever came out of your mouth." He jabs, breathing ragged, as if holding something in. "I run the maze every day, trying to find a way out. For all of us. For you."

Minho draws closer, kneeling next to Newt's bed. "And then you," he hisses, "You know, I thought I was doin' somethin' right. I thought what we do, as Runners, brings a little bit of hope.

"But no, you took it upon yourself to end your life. You think that would get us anywhere? Oh wow, Newt died, there's definitely hope for the rest of us! Is that what you had in mind?"

Every word is like an arrow lurched to his heart, and Newt lets the pain take over him again. This is what he had expected, and as much as he wants to defend himself, there's no point. Minho is right.

"But why haven't you been here?" he asks carefully.

"Last couple of days, I work harder than ever. I sleep and eat in the Map Room. I can't sit around watching you in pain while I can actually do something to get you out. Especially after you say something about your parents--I can't take it."

And then I heard about this. Gally tellin' me you wouldn't take your medicine. You really want to die, don't you?"

"I don't-- I just don't wanna do it without you." Newt hates how pathetic he sounds, but he hadn't been himself for almost a week, why stop now? "I thought you were gonna take care of me."

Minho's face softens. "You could've asked."

"Everyone says you've been busy," he argues weakly, "You know they're scared of you."

There's a hand on Newt's head, and a calloused thumb wiping his forehead. "I'm sorry," Minho says, "For not being here. For lashing out. I'm angry and sad at the same time, and I don't know how to deal with that."

"I know," Newt closes his eyes, soothed by a simple touch. "It's fine."

"I really thought you were happy. With me."

"I was, but, the Maze, I always feel like we'll never get out."

"Look at me," Minho demands, "I will get you out. I promise."

Newt searches for hope in the deep granite eyes, "Don't make promises you can't keep," he replies.

"I'll keep this one. Good that?"

"Good that."

Minho sleeps in the Med-Jack hut that night. Before they get even through the night, there's a scream piercing through the straw walls of the Med-Jack hut, waking up the entire Glade at midnight. Newt is shivering, covered in fat drops of sweat, yelling expletives as pain roars from his fractured leg. Minho is at his side, eyes wide, holding his hand. It feels like greeting death again, Newt thinks, and if he was to die he hopes it happens fast.

"Stay with me, Newt, don't you die on me." Minho begs as Newt flutters his eyes close.

"It's his leg! Where's the syringe?" It's probably Jeff, Newt can't see, because something as simple as opening his lids hurts too.

"There," Minho says, and it's the last thing he can clearly hear.

The rest is a drone of his friend's frantic yelling. Newt can feel them doing something to his leg, adding sharp, unbearable pain. He's definitely going to die now. Somehow, he's not ready. He doesn't want to.

Something sharp punches through the skin of his leg, and his vision goes black.

\--

_It's not always dark or quiet. The silence alternates with ringing of his ears, and pitch black view trades place with diffused white light every so often. The only constant is the agonizing pain. Even though the broken pieces of his leg feels like they're gravitating towards each other, it feels more like they're snapped in two over and over again._

_Sometimes he feels a hand clasping on his own when his vision goes dark. A trembling, clammy hand. A breath ghosting the shell of his ear, mouthing something he perceives as nothing more than a soothing hum. Oftentimes he finds himself waiting for the familiar warmth, waiting for it to relieve his pain._

_He wants to know who that is. Something tells him he already knows, but all of his memory vaults had been locked. This limbo became his only reality and no past was spared. When he pries his eyes open it feels like his soul is trying to leave his body. Suddenly he remembers: he does not want to die._

_Don't die._

_Don't die._

_"Don't die on me."_

_What he assumed was his own thinking is actually a memory. Or maybe a reality, because it gets clearer every time he hears it. A deep voice, saying the words as if they were a threat, but desperate at the same time. It's adamant enough to make him want to tell them he's aware of it. When he tries to say something, it appears that he doesn't have control over his body, so his voice gets stuck in his throat._

_He tries moving his body, any part of it, to no avail. Maybe he's now paralyzed from the neck down. Maybe soon he'll stop breathing, judging by the way his chest feels pressed down. He would hate to disappoint the sad voice, so he fights, to feel the expanding of his ribcage, to feel his limbs move even the slightest._

_A surge of warmth spreads across his body as a figure lays on his side. The bed he must be on couldn't be spacious since the said person feels slightly too close for comfort, but he wouldn't have it any other way. An arm slides across his midsection, and a hand sweeps over his hair. Whatever he was doing must be working, because the same soothing breath fans over his ear again, this time in a steady, even rhythm._

_His vision fades into black, leading into something he recognizes as sleep._

_Deep, calming sleep._

\--

When Newt finally opens his eyes, blinding light comes rushing in, and he thinks he's in heaven.

Not that he'd deserve to be there.

The brightness gradually subsides and things start to take shape. Rows of packed straws comes into view, along with four heads hovering over his head with a mix of concern and surprise on their faces.

Alby, Frypan, Jeff, and Gally.

"Newt! You're alive!" Frypan yelps.

Newt tries a smile. Nothing hurts.

"How long have I been out?" he croaks, his voice weak.

"Two days." Jeff answers.

He feels a hand doing something to his leg, probably unwrapping a bandage. When he lifts himself up to his elbow to confirm, he sees Winston grinning at him.

"Can you move it?" the med-jack asks.

To Newt's surprise, his leg leaves the mattress without so much as a discomfort. It still has stitches on it, but the bone is no longer broken.

"I guess?"

"That's good," Alby beams. "Does it hurt?"

"It feels weird. I should try walking."

"I wouldn't if I were you. Healing broken bone in two days seems too good to be true," Gally warns.

As usual, Newt ignores him. He helps himself to the end of the bed, sliding his legs down to touch the floor.

"Shuck!" He screams. Pain shoots up his leg as soon as he put the slightest weight on it. He throws himself back on the bed angrily, disappointed at the prospect of him being a burden to his friends, again.

"What did I tell you?" Gally rolls his eyes. Newt stays quiet, as much as he hates to admit it, the Builder was right.

"Maybe you need to ease into it." Jeff proposes. "We'll help you."

"Yeah." Newt tries to calm down, reminding himself that this was his own doing. "Thank you."

"It's almost lunchtime. I should get going." Frypan announces, and it's a cue for the others to leave. "We'll bring you food, okay?"

Newt really wants to eat outside with them, but he realizes it would be easier for them to take food here. He doesn't want to cause more trouble than he has to, so he nods in agreement.

Being alone leaves him with his thoughts, which is only filled with one person: Minho. He must be in the Maze, probably won't be back until a little before sundown, and it feels like too long of a wait.

He tries to focus on his leg instead. He moves it while lying down, mild pain coming and going as he bends his knee and ankle. It's really strange that it's healed and still injured at the same time. He wonders how long this will last and if he will ever run again.

How long will he need to depend on his friends?

On _Minho_?

"Hey."

Speak of the devil.

"Heard you're awake." the Runner beams, holding a plate of what looks like meatball spaghetti in hand.

"So the Keeper of the Runners' been slacking," he snickers playfully, propping himself up against the stack of pillows with ease, "Good to know."

The Asian chuckles, looking more relieved than amused. "It's a slow day. How's the leg?" he inquires, setting down the plate on the bedside table. He inspects the injured leg, seemingly unimpressed.

"Not broken," Newt answers as he lifts the bad leg, "Can't put weight on it, though. Hurts to stand."

"Hmm." The Runner runs a finger along his newly healed shin bone, sparking electricity on every inch that he touches. "I'll help you get back on your feet."

"How?"

"We'll practice. Every day."

"Okay," Newt moves to the edge of the bed, but Minho stops him.

"Not today. You need to eat now."

"Okay."

Newt can't muster an appetite, to be completely honest. The only reason he's chewing a mouthful of pasta is the person feeding it to him, who seems genuinely happy that he's woken up now. Memories of what happened, what he _thought_ happened, during his coma rushes back in at the sight of the jet black hair and brown almond eyes.

"Minho?" he calls, a little unsure of what he's about to say.

"Yeah?"

"When I was out, I had a dream. I think you were there."

"You think?" Minho repeats with no judgment in his tone.

"I'm not sure if it's real or a dream. But there's someone who's always there. Holding me. I'd like to think that was you, even though it wasn't clear," Newt pauses for a beat, "Were you really here?"

"I never left your side, not until this morning."

"Oh,"

"Remember the dream you told me? About the fall?"

Newt nods.

"It wasn't a dream, I think. I was actually there. I ran as fast as I could, but you were already on the ground."

I thought I'd lost you. I carried you to the Med-Jack hut as fast as I could. Blood was everywhere, and all I could think of was the worst."

Guilt swallows him whole as the tough Runner's eyes glisten in a film of tears. He reaches out a hand, lacing their fingers together. "I'm so sorry." He couldn't say much. He can only imagine what Minho must've gone through, wondering what if the situation was reversed.

"I was so angry, Newt. But I was worried at the same time. After the injection, you were unconscious, but you were also wailing. Thrashing. Sweating your body cold. And then it's the jump all over again. You were clearly dying. I couldn't leave you like that. I keep telling you--"

"Don't die on me," Newt cuts in.

Minho's eyes widen a fraction. "You heard me?"

"I think did. I tried to tell you I'm not dead, even though it feels like I was going to," Newt sighs. The experience is painful to recount.

"Is that why you were gasping?"

"Maybe. It felt like my chest was closing in on me. And somehow I knew if I didn't fight back, I'd die. So I did."

There's a tear down on Minho's cheek. "Thank you," he clears his throat, "For not giving in. You are loved, Newt, you're so important to me. To all of our friends. Don't ever think otherwise."

"Who's the sap now?" Newt regains a bit of his old self, but his eyes are brimming with tears too. Minho groans, so he squeezes his hand assuringly and apologizes, "I'm sorry. I was selfish."

"You bet you were," the Runner quips.

"I hate this place, Minho. I hate it so much."

Only then Newt realizes that he never confessed his hatred of the Glade to anyone before his suicide attempt. It's like a weight's been lifted off his shoulders. He feels considerably lighter--happy, almost.

"I know. We'll get out, and that's a promise."

"Good that."

"And don't you ever, die on me again."

Newt braves himself forward, pressing his lips on Minho's forehead. His skin was warm on his lips and the familiar scent of the boy he's been missing soothes him. He retreats, ending the kiss half-heartedly, only to see Minho looking equally disappointed. So he leans in for another, this time on the lips, slow and longing, his heart beats erratically as they swirl deeper into the kiss.

"Promise," Newt breathes, mostly relieved knowing that the one good thing in his life is right again.

_Even though he doubts that he deserves it._


End file.
